Penned by Jon Robin Baitz, “The Substance of Fire” epitomizes what used to be celebrated as a quintessential evening of theater. The play dazzles with its sharp, erudite dialogue, profound emotional currents, and formidable roles that demand and receive tour-de-force performances. Structured as a character study across two sharply contrasting acts, it delves deep into the intricacies of family dynamics and personal integrity.

In the first act, set in 1987 within the conference room of a modest, independently-owned New York publishing firm, we are introduced to Isaac Geldhart, portrayed with striking prowess by Rob Morrow of Northern Exposure fame. Isaac, a European immigrant fixated on the Holocaust, has inherited the firm from his father-in-law. Despite the company’s precarious financial state, Isaac remains obstinately committed to publishing an exhaustive six-volume series on Nazi medical experiments, a passion project with limited commercial appeal.

Isaac’s eldest son, Aaron, played by Emmitt Butler, brings a sharp contrast to his father’s rigid vision. Armed with an MBA in Economics and newly appointed as Vice President and CFO, he is acutely aware of the company’s looming bankruptcy. He proposes the acquisition of a provocative contemporary novel poised to become a bestseller—a stark departure from their traditional catalog. Isaac, however, dismisses the novel as unworthy, igniting a fierce familial conflict over the direction of the company.

“The play dazzles with its sharp, erudite dialogue, profound emotional currents, and formidable roles that demand and receive tour-de-force performances.”

Barret T. Lewis, as Isaac’s other son Martin, emerges as the production’s unexpected gem. His portrayal of the more unconventional and introspective son, who is still seeking his own path, is both warm and authentic, embodying the essence of the “good son” with a natural stage presence that captivates the audience.

The second act shifts dramatically, set three and a half years later in Isaac’s Gramercy Park apartment. Here, we witness a starkly different Isaac, a man grappling with the decline of his memory and the resultant isolation. He is intent on liquidating his valuable collections to regain control of the company, now symbolizing his desperate attempt to hold onto the remnants of his legacy. In this act, Marcia Cross delivers a performance of poignant restraint as Marge Hackett, the psychiatric social worker tasked with evaluating Isaac’s competency. Their interactions are layered with complexity, as Isaac oscillates between moments of clarity and confusion, leaving the audience uncertain whether he is engaging in a deliberate game of wits or succumbing to the early stages of dementia. Adding to the tension is the revelation of a shared history between Isaac and Marge, each harboring secrets that complicate their relationship further.

The title serves as a metaphor for integrity and the personal convictions that define us. In a poignant plea, Isaac implores his daughter Sarah, played by Fiona Dorn, to abandon her ideals, stating: “Forget your history, forget what you believe in, forget your fire. … Leave your fire at the door.” Yet, Isaac’s own steadfastness is revealed to be not as impervious as it appears. As Sarah astutely observes, Isaac is a Holocaust refugee, but not a victim, underscoring the nuanced difference and highlighting the internal conflicts that haunt him. Director Mike Reilly’s adept handling of the material, coupled with Ryan Wilson’s evocative stage design, brings Baitz’s intricate narrative to life with compelling clarity.

— Victor Riobo

“The Substance of Fire” currently being performed at Santa Monica’s Ruskin Group Theatre through September 1st. More at https://www.ruskingrouptheatre.com/